January's thaw was ever wont to deceive even the lacklustre souls with visions of sugarplums was that?
(sonnet #MMMMMMDCCCLXXVII)
How blue dusk fringes that wee chance t'avail Myself of scribbling...ere we dine. Spring hence, Despite frore winds' most cruel breath, tiptoes thence Within these longer hours of light. Though frail Perhaps in guise, yet O! in keen betrayl Nor with aught joy, my very soul can sense Its eye as if upon these wastes, til whence Is only whether next month shall wax pale. Yes, will ole Febry yield to April fer All that? I feel it in my bones anew, Half shivring to acknowledge what, as't stir? Ah, wherefore do I shrink from May, and rue The hope of daffodils and violets, poor As all my ecstasies therein? Who knew?
12Jan18b
Shall we say it's fun racing the clock when you've only 10 minutes?